In 1979, he adopted nine Black girls that nobody wanted: what they became 46 years later will leave you speechless…
In 1979, Richard Miller’s life had been reduced to silence. At thirty-four, he was a widow; his wife, Aipe, had died two years earlier after a long illness. His house, once filled with dreams of children, now resonated with emptiness. The evenings were the hardest: Richard sat at the kitchen table under the yellowish light of a single bulb, staring at the peeling painted paper while the ticking of the clock told him to pass time. His friends urged him to remarry, to start over, to fill the emptiness. But Richard wasn’t interested in starting over. He was bound by the promise Apple had made him on the hospital bed: “Don’t let love die with me. Give me somewhere to go.”
That promise drove him on, because he had no idea where it would take him until his rainy, old pickup truck broke down near the Santa Maria Orphanage on the outskirts of the city. He went inside to use the phone, shaking off the wetness, but his muffled cry dragged him down the dark hallway. The narrow room, rows of boxes, were right next to each other. Inside there were two girls, all with dark skin, with large brown eyes, extending their fragile arms.
The cries were not at the same time, but superimposed: one whimpering, another licking, others moaning, forming a heartbreaking chorus. Richard froze. Nine babies.
A young nurse looked at her. She explained in a low voice that the girls had been found together, brought down on the church steps at night, returned to the same house. “There are only two of you,” she said in a low voice. “I’m willing to adopt you, maybe two, but all of them. She’ll separate them soon.”
That word, “separated, ” cut through him like a blade. Richard weighed Appe’s plea, his belief that the family wasn’t blood, but election. He choked up as he gasped, “What if someone takes them all?”
The nurse almost laughed. “The babies? Sir, no one can raise babies. Not alone. Not even. People would think you were crazy.”
But Richard couldn’t hear their questions anymore. He approached the houses, and one of the babies looked at him with surprised curiosity, as if recognizing him. Another grabbed his hand. A third gave a giggle. Something inside him broke. The emptiness that had been heavy became something heavier, but alive. Responsibility.
“I’ll take them,” he said.
